


What Is Left

by Oak_Leaf



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 'T' rating is for some dark spots and off camera death, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chimeras, FMA AU Week 2017, Gen, Greed's Chimeras, Guard Dog AU, Humor, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oak_Leaf/pseuds/Oak_Leaf
Summary: When Bradley led the raid on the Devil's Nests, Dolcetto survived, but the people who had become his family didn't. Months later, a meeting with a stranger shows him that there might be something left for him. An AU.





	What Is Left

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artdirector123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artdirector123/gifts).



> Written for FMA AU Week 2017. Theme was: "AU where everything is the same, but..." Set in Artdirector123's wonderful, feelsy Guard Dog AU. (Check out her profile for her fics set in that 'Verse!)

The funny thing was, Dolcetto hadn’t even been his real name. He had taken a new name after the transmutation, when he and the others were freed from the labs by Greed. As far as he knew, all of them had. (Some wanted to separate themselves from the lives they’d had before; some had forgotten their old names, anyway.)

Greed was indirectly to blame. He’d brought the rag-tag gaggle of chimeras into the building where they had set up camp before the Devil’s Nest, and while they all stood around uncertainly, he had jumped up to stand on a table. 

“Alright, listen, some rules for my new possessions. Yes, you lot, who else is there?” He sighed as some of the group in front of him stopped craning their heads in search of the objects he had been addressing. “I don’t care who you were before or what kind of lives you lived. You’re mine now. This is your home, this is your life. No objections. Second, I don’t know what you eat, so one of you probably needs to make a grocery run.”

A new life. It made sense to pick a new name to with it; there would be no use in dragging something around that would only remind Dolcetto of something that was gone and over with. So when Greed asked his name, he lifted the word “Dolcetto” off of an alcohol bottle sitting on a counter, and didn’t look back.

And now here here was, on his third name. Tony Ramono. It would take some getting used to.

 

* * *

 

As an unspoken rule, all of them in Greed’s gang had never talked about the labs, except to joke. What else was there for them to do about it? It was laugh, or lose themselves dwelling on something they couldn’t change.

“At least the scientists gave us decent food,” one of them would complain, when it was Martel’s turn to cook dinner again.

Occasionally, there were bottomless promises of going back. They’d give twice what they’d gotten back to those scientists, those alchemists—the entire military, even. Mostly, it was Martel who did this. She never brought the notion up around Greed. They all knew the thought of taking on the government in retribution was ridiculous, a pipe-dream at best; Greed would have tried to pull it off.

Bido had liked to say that, since they’d hit rock bottom years ago, the only place they could go now was up. Right? Dolcetto used to laugh and chime in, “Yeah, nothin’ but good times ahead.”

Lies, all of it. Things could have most certainly become worse for them—and did, which Dolcetto knew all too well.

None of it had been worse than waking up and discovering all his friends had been killed.

The last thing he remembered was the facing off against that armor kid’s brother. It had been more of a challenge than he expected; the runt got a hit on him, and Dolcetto went flying back into the wall. He must have been knocked unconscious. Later, he was pulled awake by the scent of blood assaulting his nose. He bolted up, groaning at the pain the movement sent flooding through his head. The room around him was a wreck, with holes broken through the walls, and it had been abandoned.

When Dolcetto ventured out, following the smell, he found them. Roa. Ulchi. Martel. He might forget the sight, but the smell of their death would haunt him forever.

There were still soldiers up above their hideout. He could hear them—discussing the raid, complaining about having to gather all the dead up and burn the bodies.

Dolcetto wanted to attack them, kill them, desperately wanted to seek revenge for his friends, but he was in no condition for that. He could barely walk without emptying his stomach from the pain in his head and the stench. The gash on his head was still bleeding, adding more blood to what covered the left side of his face.

So he fled. _“Like a dog with your tail between your legs,”_ he almost heard Martel taunt. He abandoned his friends’ bodies and ran and hid like the coward he was.

 

* * *

 

The East had its perks.

It was sheep country, mainly, and of little interest to the higher machinations of the government and military. It’s quiet hills and villages made for a good place to lay low and stay over-looked.

When Tony Ramono, an immigrant from Aerugo, moved into a small town, there was only a small stir of attention from the people of the town. He was a newcomer, which made him interesting, but there was no suspicion or danger in their gazes.

Dolcetto found work easily enough. It was shearing season, and help was in high demand. He took odd jobs, here and there, and then a position watching one farmer’s flock.

A shepherd. If Greed and the others could have seen him, they would have never let him live that down. While he was in the hills, he imagined all the ribbing they would have given him—Martel very seriously asking if he had sheep dogs in his heritage, Greed grinning and shooting off herding commands to him. They would have been unbearable and irritating, and Dolcetto would have given anything to hear them tease him.

He tried not to think about that. He focused on his job, on his day to day life. And he liked the job well enough, and there were surely worse towns he could have chosen to live in. So Dolcetto kept his head down, did his job, and got by. He wasn’t sure what else he intended to do besides that—getting by, surviving. What _was_ there for him to do? Of course, there was the option of seeking revenge  on the military for the raid at the Devil’s Nest. He could find the ones who killed his friends. He certainly wouldn’t live to enjoy that satisfaction, but it would mean something for his loyalty, to go out in a blaze of vengeance like that.

When he thought about that, Dolcetto was never sure whether he was actually considering that possibility or not.

 

* * *

 

On the way home one day, making his way through the crowd of the market, his nose caught a whiff of something.  It’s familiar. A scent he knows, but…it’s distorted, somehow. Mingled with the scent of someone else—someone unfamiliar—so that it was almost covered up. Dolcetto must have been crazy, and yet—and yet, it almost reminded him of…

He couldn’t help himself. He veered off hi path, following his nose. It lead him further into the market, down another street, and out the other end of an alleyway. A man in a long dark coat stood with his back to Dolcetto, and it was from him that the scent came.

Dolcetto hesitated. The man certainly didn’t look like him. He was tall, slender, and wore his long hair pulled up in a ponytail.

Cautiously, he took a step towards the stranger.

Before he could take another, the stranger had stiffened and then turned around to face him. His eyes met Dolcetto’s—and narrowed.

Dolcgetto didn’t see the stranger move, only felt the push of a hand against his collar, and the pain of hitting the hard stone wall when he was shoved back into the alley he had just stepped out of. He sucked in a choked gasp.

The stranger’s hand gripped the fabric of his shirt at the neck, and growled at him, “What are you doing here? You think this is funny, Envy? You think you can get to me?”

Dolcetto raised his hands and tugged at the man’s arm, in an attempt to free himself. “Wha—“

“Well, it won’t work!” the man hissed. “I’ll kill you myself. I’ll crush your Stone under my shoe, and then we’ll see how you like that.”

“Not Envy!” Dolcetto gasped out. “I’m not a homunculous!”

He knew about the Homunculi. Greed had explained to all of them about his “siblings” and Father, in case any of them ever would have come looking for trouble.

The hand suddenly released Dolcetto, and the man took a step back. He stared at Dolcetto for a long moment.

Then, he spoke again. “Dolcetto?”

The man knew his name. The man knew Dolcetto’s name, knew about homunculi, wore Greed’s scent…. Dolcetto stared at him, bewildered.

The man shook his head and let out a laugh. “What are you doing here?” he repeated himself from earlier, in a very different tone. A disbelieving smile slipped across his face. “You…you chimeras are a real pesky bunch, you know. I can’t do anything to get rid of you.”

Dolcetto thought, distantly, through the fog of disbelief, that it almost sounded like the man was fighting tears. The man continued to talk, but Dolcetto couldn’t hear what the man was saying. He was caught staring at the strange face wearing a familiar grin.

“Greed?” he asked hoarsely.

Greed laughed again. “Who else, genius?”

A concerned look passed over his face when Dolcetto continued gaping at him. “Hey, you okay?”

“ _How_? You’re not…but…you are? Uhh?”

“Huh?”

“Not dead?” Dolcetto managed.

“Oh. Ha, as if I’d let those pissants keep me down. This is the new and improved Greed!”

His thoughts tumbled in his head, as Dolcetto tried to fight this new reality with his memories of the death in the Devil’s Nest. They’d been dead. He’d smelled the death and blood—but here was Greed, well and alive and in a new body, somehow, but alive nevertheless. Could the others…. No. He’d seen their bodies. (Not Greed’s body, though, Dolcetto realized with a start.)

Greed said something. Still lost in his thoughts, Dolcetto didn’t catch it, and he startled when Greed turned around and started walking away, back to the street.

Dolcetto stared dumbly after him.

Over his shoulder, still walking, Greed called, “You coming?”

 

* * *

 

Dolcetto trailed after, as Greed lead him through town, to a small hovel of a hotel at the edge of the buildings. It wasn’t the sort of place he would have expected Greed to willingly stay in.

Inside, he was brought to a room with two other people. Even before Greed introduced them as chimeras, Dolcetto knew what they were. They had that animal smell about them.

“So here’s the new member of my group. You’re all chimeras, so you should get along, right?”

Dolcetto folded his arms and eyed the two, who did the same to him. “Dolcetto,” he said, inclining his head a little in introduction.”

“Heinkel.”

“Darius.”

“Great,” Greed said, “we’re all friends. Hey, where’d that kid go?”

Before either Darius or Heinkel could answer, the door to the room swung open. Dolcetto spun around, half reaching for the swords he still expected to find on his back. In the doorway stood a young with bright gold hair, who Dolcetto easily recognized.

“You,” he exclaimed, and then realized that Whashisname Elric (Al? Alfred?) had said the same thing.

“You’re one of those jerks who kidnapped Al!” the kid all but shouted, glaring at him

(So Al wasn’t his name.)

“You mean that armor kid?” Dolcetto asked, glancing at Greed. Greed was no help; he was trying to get past the two chimeras who were blocking the phone, arguing about ordering room service. “What are you even doing here?”

“ _Me_? What are you doing here?

Dolcetto cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I…don’t even know.” He looked back up to find himself under the scrutinizing gaze of Elric’s disconcertingly golden eyes.

“I thought you were…” the kid trailed off.

“Listen, I’ll explain what’s happened to me, if you tell me _what in Amestris_ is going on here,” Dolcetto offered, desperately wanting to understand. He cursed again. “I don’t even know how Greed is still alive.”

The Elric kid let out a short, half-hearted laugh. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Between discovering Greed was alive, learning that soon the entire country would have their souls sucked from them through a giant alchemic transmutation, and the general way his life had been turned upside down in the last two hours, Dolcetto thought he was handling things well.

“Hey, don’t go passing out! If you fall, I’m not rushing over to catch you.”

“I’m fine,” Dolcetto mumbled. “Just…need a second.”

He lifted himself from where he was bent over, hands on his knees, to peer up at the Elric-Fullmetal-whateverhisname kid. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Elric shrugged. “You should meet Ling, but that’ll have to wait until you’re not gonna faint from shock.”

Dolcetto tried not to be worried about who this “Ling” character might be. He shook his head. “Okay. Whatever.”

He reached for the bottle Greed had ordered after he won the argument for room service, and poured himself a glass. He offered Elric one as well, but the kid shook his head.

“So…you really think this will work? Taking on Father and his cronies?”

Sighing, Elric said, “Look. I know Greed’s just taken it for granted that you’re going to join us…. But, you really don’t have to stick around. This is going to be the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done—and that says something. And…no, I don’t even know if it will work. I don’t know.”

The kid was speaking around it, like he was afraid to say the words out loud, but Dolcetto could hear what he meant clearly. _We’re probably all going to die_.

He considered for a moment. His eyes wandered around the room, falling on Greed where he still stood arguing with the other two chimeras. “No, I’m in,” he said.

Greed was the only thing he had left. Not quite the same Greed, but it was still him. And as crazy and doomed as their plans for this Promised Day thing might be, if it meant a chance at saving the world and taking down the rotten monsters responsible for everything— _everything_ —then there was no way Dolcetto could walk away.

**Author's Note:**

> The end is weak, I know. I wasn't sure how to close this. 
> 
> Don't be shy, leave a comment and tell me what you thought! I'd love any critiques you might have to give!


End file.
